Murka

Once we go on business –
Me and Rabinovitch.
Rabinovitch wants a drink or two.
He's a poor Jew - it is a common knowledge,
And there's nothing else for him to do.

Come, the pub is near.
Let us have a beer.
In we go, and suddenly - my God!
See her? This is famous Murka sitting here,
Her revolver laden with bird shot.

She's a little skinny,
Wearing a mini...
How come you never heard her name?
All the ruthless urkas
Are afraid of Murka's
Dangerous lifestyle and grisly fame.

Let us stop, my Murka,
Playing cat-and-mouse.
Darling, I have come to say good-bye.
You have sold to cops the old malina house,
And because of that you have to die.

As my knife slides open,
There's no stoppin'
Me from hitting her with deadly force.
Murka's heart is stalling,
Her blood-drops are falling,
Reddening the white of her 'White Horse'.

She was cute and clever,
But she's gone forever.
Somebody is calling the police.
Though this is risky,
I finish off her whisky,
Or a 'Bloody Mary', if you please.